And He Called Me Hermione
by TheScarlettSecret
Summary: Bonjour. My name is Sophie. I knew Harry Potter. True, he didn't truly love me. He was in love with her, he always was. At the very least, I felt wanted. And I learned something. Something about being true to yourself, and following your heart. Oneshot.


_Disclaimer: Characters, objects, and ideas recognizable as J.K. Rowling's are indeed hers. I do not own them. _

_The Scarlett Secret  
_Presents  
_And He Called Me Hermione_

"Bonjour Auguste, bonjour Charlotte!" I yelled to my roommates as I flew down the stairs. We shared a cute little townhouse along with Grégoire and Anastasie in a nice part of Paris, in a perfect location to get to places easily but not be overrun by tourists when we stepped out the door. We had a total of four bedrooms, which meant I shared one with Anastacie. The downside was that I shared a room, but the upside was that it was a bigger room in the front of the building, and we had a balcony.

I usually rose just before the sun and would sit out on the balcony and read while the sun comes up over the city, but today that hadn't happened. I'd totally overslept, and just had enough time to get in the shower and out before racing down the steps and down a few blocks to the library, where I worked part-time to pay my part of the rent. I ran my fingers through my unruly brown hair in attempt to air-dry it, running out of the townhouse as Charlotte was yelling something and waving a book in my face.

"Veuillez renvoyer mon livre pour moi?" she asked, throwing the book on top of the stack I already held in my hands.

"Oui, oui, au revoir!" I yelled over the commotion Auguste was making as he burnt yet another batch of eggs. I could hear Charlotte reprimanding him as I shut the door behind me and took a deep breath, breathing in the city I loved. I ran down the block, stopping at my favorite market for breakfast.

"Je voudrais une tranche de pain et une pomme," I said quickly, doing another balancing act with the books at my hip, trying to keep them in place while I searched for my money. Anne, who was there every morning as I bought the same breakfast, laughed at me as the top book nearly slid off the stack.

"Bon économise," she said as she took my money and waved goodbye.

I flashed her a smile and speed-walked my way to the library. Stepping into that building, I breathed a sigh of relief. I was on time. I'd only been late once in the two years I'd worked there, and that wasn't my fault at all. It was _his._ He was the reason for that small mark on my record. But I wasn't bitter about it, no, if anything, that little mark was a reason to smile. Not enough of a reason for a very big smile, but a smile nonetheless. True, he didn't love me, true, he was in love with another girl while we were together, but it was also true that he'd made me feel like I'd never felt, and that in the end, I was the reason he was back on track. I liked that feeling, that I'd helped someone do more than find the right book. That perhaps I'd set his entire life back on track. He was certainly in shambles when I met him...

**Paris London Paris London Paris London **

"Uh, bonjour, uh, vous avon une live par le... Shakespeare?" I looked up from the computer with a smirk on my lips. He'd mispronounced almost everything and had a terrible accent, but you had to give him points for trying. At least, trying until the end. He'd given up and just said the last word in a perfect English accent.

My eyes tore away from the list of overdue books, and even though I'd told my hands to keep moving and continue stapling stacks of papers, they too stopped their work. The man in front of me had the most amazing green eyes... and his flyaway black hair plus his terrible accent made him adorable, in a puppy-like sort of way. Except he was much cuter than any puppy I'd ever seen.

"Madame?" He peered curiously over the computer screen to get a good look at me, but in gaining _my_ attention, I lost his. For a moment he looked surprised, staring at me the same way I had been staring at him.

"I speak English, monsieur," I told him with a tone of laughter in my voice.

"Er, yes, yes. Do you have any books by Shakespeare?"

"Yes, vee do. Are you looking for one in particular?"

"Well, the Twelfth Night, or What You Will, would be nice," he replied as I got up to lead him to the right bookcase. I could feel his curious eyes on me as I led him over, and I couldn't help but be curious myself. Despite it being springtime, the man was wearing a cloak... in black, of all colors. Of course, I didn't really expect him to be the most fashionable guy. I did give him credit for the jeans and t-shirt underneath, though.

"'Ere vee are," I said as we reached the bookshelf. "Did you vant eet in English or French? Our library has bozz languages as far as Shakespeare goes, since many people trying to learn English like reading books in zat language."

"Actually, I was thinking of doing the same thing, only in French."

"Ah, smart," I said, my finger running along the spines of books as I searched for the one he wanted. "Errr... eet looks like vee are out of zat book. Vould you like anozzer?"

"Do you have The Winter's Tale?"

"Vinter's Tale... Vinter's Tale..." I said, scanning the books over again. "Aha! Vinter's Tale!" I stood on my tiptoes to grab the book, just barely reaching the top of the spine.

"Here, let me help," the man said, reaching above me. I could smell his scent and my heart rate sped up. He easily grabbed the book and started looking at the back cover, then turning it to flip through the pages. He didn't appear to have been affected by being so close to me. Zut.

"Ees zat all, monsieur?" I asked.

"Yes, I think that'll be all. Can I get a library card to check this out?"

"Are you 'ere on vacation?"

"No, I'm living here for a few months."

"In zat case, oui. Follow moi." I led him back through the maze, disheartened. He didn't look up from his book once. We went through the procedure to grant him a library card, and I didn't feel that curious gaze at all. Oh, well. I knew I wasn't that pretty. Just plain brown eyes and brown hair that I couldn't tame. Why did I think he'd be interested in me? He probably just thought I looked like someone he knew.

"Zere you go, monsieur. Eet es yours for two veeks. Good luck wiz ze French. Ze book, he es a good one."

"Yes, yes it is..." He was already preoccupied with that book again. I watched him leave like a little girl would watch her puppy being led away, and immediately averted my eyes back to the computer as he turned to look at me.

"Miss?"

I pretended to be busy before looking back at him. "Yes?"

"Would you like to have dinner with me?"

I stared at him for a moment. "But... I don't even know your name."

He walked over and took my hand. "My name is Harry, Harry Potter." I loved the way his accent sounded on his Rs.

"I... I am Sohpie Rousseau."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, miss," he said, lifting my hand to his lips, causing me to blush horrendously. "Now would you do me the pleasure of taking you out to dinner?"

I smiled hugely before nodding, my words stuck in my throat until I forced them out, "Oui, oui. Je suis fait avec le travail dans trois heures."

He looked at me oddly, I'd forgotten about English. Stupid Sophie! Stupid! I mentally slapped myself.

"You are done travelling at three?" I laughed.

"Non, I am done vith vork in zree hours."

"I have to say, that does make more sense." I laughed again. "I will meet you on the front steps."

"I vill be zere." He walked away, leaving me giddy.

Dominique, the head of the library, winked at me from behind a shelf. She'd been the one to teach me the ropes, having worked here for thirty years. Born and raised in Paris, she'd half lived at the library all her years. The other half of her life was spent with her husband, Alexandre, until he passed away of cancer five years back. She went on leave to Ireland for three months after the funeral, to "think" and collect herself. It was the longest she'd ever been away from the library. Now she was back to her usual self, and that meant teasing all the personnel who worked there. She'd told me I was a "pretty girl" millions of times, and that I should find a guy, but make sure he was worth me while. She always stressed that last part. I'm guessing she'd seen the chivalric display of kissing my hand, and obviously approved. I usually scoffed when she said "pretty girl", but looking at my reflection in the window, I started to see myself in a new light... I mean, maybe... if you looked past my hair...

**Paris London Paris London Paris London **

Dominique let me go early that night, half an hour early. I used fifteen minutes to primp up in the bathroom and to change into the clean shirt I kept at work in case something happened. Once I spilt juice all over my white shirt, and had to run through town to get a new one from home, which was not only embarrassing, but wasted tons of time I needed to spend at work. The clean one was simple, a long-sleeved green shirt that wasn't much, but still better than the other shirt I'd worn, a worn out blue t-shirt. I had no makeup at work besides my lipstick from my purse, and my hair, which had air-dried that morning, was a mess, but without a brush or product there was no way I'd get it to look more than semi-almost-presentable.

After making sure my desk and files were in order, all the books put back on the shelf, and the computers logged off, there was nothing I could do but wait, and I decided to do so outside. There were only ten minutes left, and it was a beautiful evening. I sat on the top step of the library, watching the sun start to set over the river, one of my favorite parts of the city. Five minutes later I spotted the messy mop of black hair, and stood up to meet him.

"Were you waiting long?" He asked, looking genuinely sorry. Which made me feel bad.

"Oh, non, I just got off early today."

"Alright, then. My lady," he said, bowing slightly and holding out his arm. I'm sure he meant to make me giggle a little, like a schoolgirl. I'm a little embarrassed to admit that it worked, too.

"I passed a restaurant along the way I thought I'd take you to," he told me, and proceeded to lead the way. We talked about minor things, the city, the best places to go and eat, music, sports. Soon we came to La Rivier, a fancy place the rich people in town go to. He saw my surprised and scared look, and returned it with a look of his own: curiosity.

"What's wrong with it?"

"Oh, nothing at all, eez just..." I looked down at my clothes. "I'm certainly not dressed for it."

He smiled at me and leaned into my ear, "You look lovely this evening. It'll do just fine."

**Paris London Paris London Paris London**

The next day I didn't see him at all, but we went out the next three nights. I showed him Paris, giving him a personal tour of the Louvre and to the top of the Eiffel Tour, as well as down the river and to my favorite used bookstore, _Tes Livres_. I was slowly teaching him more French and working on his accent. He was having troubles with verb forms, but everyone usually did. In return, he taught me more English, and we worked on my accent. He was coming along much faster than I was, but I never admitted it. We'd point to things in store windows and make a sentence about them. Him in French and me in English.

He told me that this week had been his vacation week, and that after that, he'd have to do more work, which included odd hours, so he'd be seeing less of me. That was fine with me, a little saddening, but fine. We still saw each other a couple times a week, and soon we'd start spending more and more time in the evenings together, but I'd never completely stay over at his spacious apartment. He'd tease me about it lightly, but respected my distance. More so, he respected _me_, and that's what really got me about him.

I was happier that I'd been in a long time. It didn't take a psychic to tell you that. I felt happier, and prettier. I felt prettier, looked prettier, walked prettier, and worked prettier. Charlotte had commented that I looked different the other day, always singing and smiling. My answer to that? Another smile. I was thinking one morning as I watched the sun rise, that maybe the reason I was prettier was that I felt loved. Maybe, when you know you're loved, not deep love, or love-love, but even just appreciated, you just become happier, which makes you prettier overall. But that was just my theory.

**Paris London Paris London Paris London**

"Sophie, séjour avec moi?" he whispered in my ear, in a perfect French accent, that he'd like me to stay. I would have squealed in delight at his accent, except we were currently on the floor after a wrestling session, and his voice had stunned me all over again. The sun had long set into the velvet skies, and I'd told myself I'd leave soon.

"Je... je ne devrais pas," I said, telling him I really ought to go.

"Non... séjour avec moi ce soir," he said, looking into my eyes. We went through this every night we were together. But tonight was different.

"What about your work tomorrow morning?" I asked, trying for English.

"Work can wait," he told me. I searched his eyes, then smiled and rolled him over.

"Juste pour ce soir... just for tonight..."

**Paris London Paris London Paris London**

I woke up with the sun, the covers swirled around me, his arms around me tighter than the covers. I slowly slipped out of them, fighting the covers at the same time, trying not to wake him up. I froze for a minute as he moved, but he quickly turned over and continued breathing deeply. I grabbed one of the blankets at the end of the bed, one of the many that had been thrown off the night before, and wrapped it around myself. I circled around the bed and moved the hair out of his eyes, then padded lightly over to the kitchen, where I'd left my purse.

I slowly unzipped the bag, and took out my latest novel, Peace Like A River. It was an English novel I'd found on Harry's bookcase, delighted that I could understand most of it. I fished a French-English dictionary out of my purse, though I didn't need it often. I walked quietly back through the bedroom, stopping to put on a pair of underwear and one of Harry's t-shirts, and walked out onto the balcony off the bedroom. Breathing deeply, I spun around in bliss of the night before, my first stay at Harry's house, before settling into a soft chair and pulling the book out.

It was about an hour later that Harry surprised me, covering my eyes and whispering, "Good morning, sunshine," into my ear. I laughed, and turned around to give him a kiss.

"Sleep well?"

"Terribly so. And you?"

"Even better. What are you doing out here so early?"

"I always get up zis early," I told him with a smile. "I like reading and watching ze sun come up. I'm just a little… bookworm."

He looked startled for a second, and then smiled uneasily. "Where'd you hear that word?"

"An Englishman came into ze library ze other day, and found his daughter who'd been reading for ze past two hours. He called her zat."

"Well, either way, we need to have a little breakfast and work on that accent of yours," he said teasingly, poking my nose as he did so. I followed him into the house.

**Paris London Paris London Paris London**

I was waiting for him to get home, reading another book on his sofa with the balcony door slid open. He'd given me a key after that first night, and I came here often. Charlotte and Anastasie would tease me whenever I came home, but I just rolled my eyes. I still paid our rent, and Anastasie got her own room most of the time, so it was okay that I usually stayed here. I was just getting into the book when something flew into the room. _Flew._ I shrieked.

It took me a minute to first realize it was a bird. It was huge, white, and in Harry's apartment. _In _the apartment. I waved my arms at it, trying to force it back out, but I couldn't for the life of me do so. Finally I just opened the closet door and got a lucky hand to it, forcing the bird inside. I quickly shut the door, my back against it as if the devil itself were inside the closet. Hey, for all I knew, he was. I heard squawking and some scratching as I caught my breath, but soon it quieted down. Moments later, Harry walked in.

"Harry?"

"Hey, Soph."

"There's something in zis closet," I said as he reached around me, hands on my waist.

"Should we see if there's something under the bed too?" He asked, swaying us back and forth.

"No, seriously. There's something in zis closet. A creature animal thing." He motioned for me to move aside and slowly opened the door. The bird flew out and I shrieked again. I thought Harry was doing the same until I quieted down and realized he was laughing.

"Sophie, it's okay!" He held his arm out, letting the bird land on it. "This is Hedwig. She's my owl."

"Oh," I said, my hand rubbing my temple. "Oh. That makes sense. An owl as a pet. Perfect sense."

"Do I sense sarcasm?"

"Yes. I think you do."

"She was given to me when I was eleven years old. She's harmless unless you don't feed her." I just shook my head, letting it go. He looked too comfortable petting that owl for it to be a lie. As he closed the door I noticed a broom. Yes, I realize it was a _broom_ closet, but that broom was crooked, and its bristled would not have helped _anyone_ clean the floor. He told me it was for a costume he had one year. He was a wizard. Why did he bring the costume to France with him, for May-July? I didn't ask. I still don't know.

**Paris London Paris London Paris London**

One night I lay curled up beside Harry, both of us trying to sleep. My eyes were closed, and had been for twenty minutes, when I felt his hand brush a strand of hair out of my face. It fell back down, but he did it again.

"Hermione..." he whispered in the darkness.

I crooked an eyelid open drowsily. "Hermione?"

He looked slightly startled. "I thought you were asleep."

"Non, je n'étais pas. Hermione es qui?"

He looked at me a moment, then smiled. "She is a queen in one of Shakespeare's stories. The same story you lent me the day I met you, actually."

"Une reine, eh?"

"Yes. You are like a queen, Sophie. Magnificent."

You probably think I was foolish for believing him. I _was_ foolish, but I don't know if I _believed_ him. I know I certainly wanted to. I didn't know if I believed him, and I still don't know if I did. But I really wanted to. I didn't want to think there was another girl, past or present. Maybe I just wanted to think I was the only one. Maybe I just wanted to be thought of and compared to a queen. I'm not really sure. But I did believe him, for the time being. Deep down I felt uneasy, but until I would think it over, I guess I kind of did believe him. Either way, no one said another thing that night.

**Paris London Paris London Paris London**

I was eating breakfast with Anastasie. Auguste had tried to cook his eggs again, but, as usual, they had burnt, which not only left the kitchen smelling less than pretty, but all we had left to eat was cereal. Not that I was complaining. Nothing's better on a Saturday morning than Cereal. I was concentrating on the back of the box when the phone rang. I looked up at Ana, who looked up at me. We just looked at each other for a moment before she shrugged and went back to read the paper, leaving me to answer the phone. I groaned and got out of my chair, making my way in my pajama pants and Harry's t-shirt over to the phone.

"Hello?" I answered, in a perfect English accent. This raised an eyebrow from Ana, but I just blew her an air-kiss back.

"Sophie?"

"Yes, it's me."

"Sophie, it's Jezebelle. When did you learn to speak such English?" I snorted. Jezebelle thought she was high queen, and apparently high queens are the only one's aloud to speak English well. She prided herself in doing so, except her accent told everyone that she was French, where mine did not.

Jezebelle didn't wait for my answer. "Listen, Greg isn't here yet to pick me up from the airport, and the phone lines at the Gold Palace are not working. I need to have a room ready by the time I get there, or Jacqueline will be uncomfortable." Sure, the fluffy white dog's comfort is more important than my morning, I thought to myself. "Please reserve the royal suite for me? You're such a dear. Goodbye now." That was that. She hung up on me.

"Who vas zat?" Ana asked, peering over her paper.

"Jezebelle. She and her dog need a room at the Gold Palace, and I get to sacrifice my morning to please them."

"Beetch," she said, surprising me. "I don't know 'ow Greg puts up vith 'er. Et vere are you learning all zis English?"

"Remember the Englishman I've been seeing for two months? Harry? He's been teaching me. Very good teacher." I spun around as I walked to my chair to slurp up the rest off the cereal and hot cocoa before going off to do Jezebelle's bidding.

"I'd say zat es not ze only zing 'e's been teaching you," she teased me. I answered in a wink before standing up to put my bowls in the sink.

**Paris London Paris London Paris London**

I walked through the front doors of the Gold Palace, once again marveled by the high ceilings and arches of the five-star hotel. I could see why Jez would want to stay here. She hated when I called her "Jez", so that's what I called her in my head. Either that or "Queen Bitch". But that took longer to say. Or think.

The line wasn't too long, and there were two men working the desk, so I quickly strode over to one and started fidgeting with the hem on my shirt while I waited. Harry worked until late that night, so she was going to pick up some takeout and bring it to his place, where she'd spend the night. Anastasie was bringing home her boyfriend, and had asked if I'd stay with Harry. I was planning to anyways, though, so it didn't matter all that much.

I looked up as another girl started talking to the man at the desk in the line opposite me. She turned to look around while the man worked his magic on the computer, and I was surprised and stricken by how closely she resembled my reflection in the mirror. She was a little bit taller, and little more curvaceous, true, but we shared the same unruly hair and the same milk chocolate eyes.

"Aha. 'Ere. Granger you say?"

"Ah, yes, sir," she answered in a perfect British accent.

"Are you 'ere for vork or for play?" the man asked, making small talk as he entered her information into the computer.

"Actually, I'm here to surprise a friend," she told him as she played with the hem of her shirt. "He's been here for two months, and I thought I'd see the city and say hi."

"Es 'e staying 'ere?"

"Uhm, actually, I don't know where he's staying for sure. But I have an idea."

"Good luck wiz zat. 'Ere es your room key, Madame."

"Thank you," she said politely, gathering her room key along with a stack of books to her left that I hadn't noticed. She must have set them down to talk to the man.

"Sign 'ere," he instructed.

"Oh, right." She shifted the books to balance precariously on her hip, a move that must have taken years of practice, to sign on the receipt. She shifted the books to her other hip and bent down to pick up a small black suitcase.

"Enjoy your stay in Paris," the man said with a forced smile.

"Thank you," she said again, striding with an air of confidence towards the elevator. Her books never even moved. She was better than me. It was like magic. She stood, waiting for the elevator to ding, when I heard a whisper.

"Hermione." The lady looked around, confused, and then shrugged it off as the elevator dinged. I looked around myself as the elevator doors closed, then I realized. The woman who had whispered her- her... name... was me.

**Paris London Paris London Paris London**

I had the Chinese food set out on the island in the kitchen, and was grabbing some chopsticks and wine glasses as Harry strode in. He was wearing that funny cloak of his again, despite the July heat, and quickly shed it onto a chair.

"I bought the wine," he said, showing it to me. "My favorite." He popped the cork and poured us each a bit.

"Let's sit in the living room," he suggested.

"We might spill," I warned, motioned towards the red wine.

He looked at me and smiled. "Don't."

I grabbed the wine and chopsticks as he grabbed the food cartons, and we turned the lights down low as we sat gingerly on the living room floor, crossing our legs. His apartment had an optimal view, with the sun just setting over the Eiffel Tower. He picked up a pair of chopsticks and fed me a few strands of lo mein, making me giggle again, like on our first date.

Dinner was nice and quiet, with small talk as we ate, sharing some memories of our pasts and plans for the future. As we set down our chopsticks and finished our wine, I stood up and held a hand out to him. He took it and I pulled him off the floor.

"Let's go out on the balcony."

"You certainly like my balconies, don't you?"

"They've got the most wonderful view in the city. What's not to like?" I opened the door and slid it shut once we both were through.

"Good point," he said, wrapping his arms around my waist as I wrapped mine around his and we both looked west towards the lights. The sun had long set, and the stars were shining brighter than ever. We stood there like that for a minute before I broke the silence with a single word.

"Hermione." I felt him stiffen immediately, then try to relax. Try. He didn't succeed. I could tell the difference in his body language as his arms loosened but didn't fall.

"What?" he asked, his voice wavering just barely enough for me to notice.

I turned around and looked up at him, biting my lips. "Hermione."

"What are you talking about?" he asked. He was nervous.

"I saw her today."

"Who?"

"Don't be silly. She was at the hotel. I had to book a room for someone." His eyes looked into mine, searching. I talked on.

"She looks like my reflection, except a little taller." I left out 'curvaceous'. "She has unruly brown hair. Brown eyes. She carries a stack of books with her like a Siamese twin. A... bookworm. Speaks with a perfect accent. Looked up when I whispered her name. I'm no fool, Harry."

He didn't say anything, but his eyes were bright green, and deep, like I'd never seen them before. He opened his mouth to speak, but I put a single finger on his lips.

"You love her."

He didn't say a word. Then again, he didn't have to. I left him on the balcony and began picking up our dinner. I threw out the cartons of Chinese food, saved the rest of the lo mein in a small Tupperware container, and started hand-washing the wine glasses when I heard his familiar padding of feet across the living room.

"How did you know?" I looked at him, my hands sudsy from the soap. "Even I didn't know. Not until... you told me."

"It's obvious, Harry. You called me her name. When I described her, you looked... you looked in love."

He looked at me, then down at his feet. "I guess... I guess I do love her. I think... I think I always have."

I looked at him and smiled a small smile. "I _know_ you always have." I rinsed the glasses off in silence and set them on the green towel to the side of the sink to dry.

"I'm not going to stay over tonight."

"I didn't expect you to. But what about Anastasie?" he asked, pronouncing her name carefully.

"She can have the room to herself. I'll stay in a hotel tonight."

"Do you want me to pay for it?"

"No, no. It's a treat for myself."

I gathered my evening coat off the chair close to the door, and he followed me to the entrance, where I turned to look him in the eye.

"I... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Sophie." I pressed his key into his hand, smiling thinly.

"So am I." I turned, opened the door, crossed the threshold, and closed it, pressing my back to the door in the same fashion I'd done with the owl.

Collecting my breath and sanity, I walked out of the complex, grabbing one of its brochures at the front desk for the new rooms. Borrowing a pen from the desk where no one was sitting, I jotted down Harry's room number next to the address of the complex and the number to reach if you're interested, ripped off the page I'd written on, and shoved it into my pocket. I left the building, breathing in deeply. Then I ran.

I ran like I'd never run before, the night air fueling my body as I ran everything out of me. I'd like to say I never looked back, but that would be a lie. I did look back once, just before turning a corner. The lights were on in his apartment, and I could see his silhouette standing on the balcony, watching. I didn't wave, I didn't smile, and I didn't acknowledge him. I stood for a minute, then turned and ran.

**Paris London Paris London Paris London**

I reached the lobby breathing hard, smelling like the night air of Paris, my city.

"One room for one night please. Sophie Rousseau. A balcony if possible." I handed him my credit card and continued struggling for air.

"'Ere you go, Miss Rousseau," the night shift said, handing me a room key. "Room four-two-eight. Anyzing else I can do for you?"

"Yes, actually, a friend of mine is staying here. Hermione Granger. Do you suppose you could give me her room number?"

"Granger... Granger..." the man consulted his computer. "Room four-two-six."

"Thank you, sir."

"Thank _you_, Miss."

I jogged over to the elevator, but when the numbers above both of them read "10" and "12", I said skip it, and jogged over to the stairs, readying myself for three flights of stairs. The first was easy, the second harder, but the third was terrible. I'd run out of my fuel towards the end, but remembered my purpose, and the girl who was probably sitting in her room right now, staring out the window, and gave myself the energy to skip the last step.

I jogged halfway down the hall until I came to the four-twenties. I stood there a moment, catching my breath, then walked on, counting in my head.

_"Four... two... six. This is it."_ I stood outside the door, then gathered my courage, grabbed the knocker, and gave three confident knocks. I heard feet padding over to the door and the lock slide open as I bit my lip nervously. She opened the door, the same girl I'd seen in the lobby earlier that day. Of course it was the same girl. I guess I just hoped it'd all been a mistake.

"Uh, hello," she said. "Can I help you?" She looked a bit startled by me, but she'd obviously gotten over that.

I looked at her, closed my eyes, and fished around in my pocket for that page of the brochure.

"Madame? Je... ne parler pa francez?" she said, mangling the words.

"I speak English," I said. My words were perfect.

"Then can I help you Miss?" she sounded impatient. I pulled the paper out of my pocket and unfolded it. It took a second, then I handed it to her.

"My name is Sophie," I told her. I don't know why, but I did.

"What's this?" she asked examining the paper.

"I... I found your friend. The one you mentioned yesterday at the front desk." She looked at me curiously.

"He loves you," I told her, saying it with my eyes, too. Her own eyes stared back at me, then turned to curiosity and slightly of despair.

"Is this a joke? Whose address is this?"

"He loves you, Hermione. Harry loves you," I told her, my words turning back to their accent before Harry came into my life. The last two were half mangled by a sob. She looked at me, then understood. I brought a hand to my mouth, my eyes tearing up. "He loves _you_."

She held an arm out, but I brushed it off, and ran to my own room down the hall. I quickly punched the key in and opened the door. I looked down the hall at her. She was looking at the paper, and then looked up at me. Her eyes started tearing up, too, and she let out a sob and broke into a smile.

My entire world flipped upside down in that smile. Everything that had happened was smashed, wavy, weird. Flipped, flopped, and flooped. Then it righted itself most of the way. And I smiled back at her, a sob breaking through as I did so. I entered my room and shut the door, but just before I did, I heard the words spoken softly, "_Thank you._"

I raced over to the opposite side of the room, slid open the door, and went onto the balcony, breathing in the air. Breathing was the only thing I could do between sobs, laughter, and tears. I heard the lobby doors open and close, and peered down three stories below me. She wore a light blue jacket and blue jeans. She walked halfway across the parking lot and then broke into a run. I followed her with my eyes until I could see her no more. I sunk to the floor and rested my back on the side of the building, facing the sky with the stars twinkling so bright.

"_Le Conte De l'Hiver," _I whispered. "Queen Hermione."

I closed my eyes, and slept under the stars.

I never had a British accent again.

_**c'est fini**_


End file.
